This article requires two disclaimers. First, there will be massive spoilers for "Captain American: Civil War." Like, turn back if you haven't seen the movie yet and plan on doing so at some point.
Second, I am not black. I am writing about something I have less authority on than a black person would. I don't know what it's like to be black. I'm never going to know with certainty what a young black person will feel empowered by in the media. I have white privilege.
That doesn't change the swell I felt in my heart at the end of "Captain America: Civil War."
In much the same way Asian characters are frequently limited to martial arts master, dragon ladies, and China dolls, black characters are frequently limited to magical negro, black best friend, thug, and the sassy black woman.
All of these stereotypes are problematic and damaging. Black children are limited in their choices for role models in the media who look like them. White characters have hundreds of options that reflect the diversity of their experiences. Black people have boxes, and those boxes perpetuate harmful ideas. While the black best friend isn't a bad trope, it's a secondary one. It's usually a flawless, lovable black character who is only there to support the protagonist and do nothing significant of his own.
When the camera zoomed in on a heartfelt conversation between Natasha and T'Challa, a young and handsome black diplomat, my interest was piqued. The camera was telling me he'd be an important character, but I didn't know how.
In the film, T'Challa is the son of the king of the fictional African nation Wakanda. When the King dies during an attack on the UN during the signing of the Sokovia Accords, T'Challa is seen holding his father's body and crying in the rubble.
Natasha tried to comfort him in a later scene. T'Challa explained that his father viewed death as a beautiful thing, but that he was not his father. He vowed that he would kill Bucky in order to get revenge—the major suspect in the explosion.
When the sleek and silver Black Panther popped on screen to fight Bucky and Cap, I didn't put two and two together. Granted, it's probably because I'm far from a Marvel nerd. Knowledge of the comics would tell a casual fan right away. When they pulled the mask off of Black Panther and revealed him to be T'Challa, my stomach felt a little sour.
Black villain, magical negro, above it all. Pretty voice. Morally superior in a dangerous way. It didn't help that I'd always had a soft spot for Bucky and he was out to murder him. I had this feeling nothing could be done to make me like this trope black character.
I was so wrong.
T'Challa continued to pursue Bucky as he and Cap progressed closer and closer to the final conflict of the film, but when T'Challa realized Bucky had been framed for the attack on the UN and had been regularly mind controlled, he spent no time switching sides. He immediately pursued the overarching antagonist of the film in order to protect Bucky. He told the big bad: "I can't believe I almost killed the wrong man—an innocent person." He also prevented the villain from committing suicide, holding away his gun. "The living aren't through with you yet."
I had shivers. A flawed black superhero with the ability to learn and grow morally. T'Challa grew after his mistake and stuck to his values of defending innocent people. He didn't let his ego get in the way of the truth. He didn't let his emotions override his values.
He was morally superior to and way cooler than Iron Man. That was the black character I wanted to see in the media.
He was not a black best friend. He was a black hero, a black independent. A powerful man who used that power in the best way. Even his superhero alias invokes a notion of black power and sovereignty: The Black Panther Party, which was active from the mid-60s to early 80s, supported black nationalism and socialism.
Marvel movie goers know: There are always scenes after the credits roll. After the big names went by, the camera closed in on Bucky in a tube. He insisted to Cap that he should be frozen again. As long as he is capable of being controlled, he's safer hidden away where he can't hurt anyone, he said. Cap then turned to T'Challa and said, "If they find out he's here, they'll come for him." This interaction implies that T'Challa may aim to rehabilitate his mind.
T'Challa smiled. "Let them try."
The camera flew outside the window, through the woods, and to a massive, glimmering statue of a black panther, poised to protect them.
I turned to my friends as the film came to a close. "Black Panther is my favorite." I couldn't stop saying it. He was logical and emotional, flawed and strong. Black. To have a character so cool be black and not a trope spoke volumes to me. Sure, Falcon is cool, but Falcon is still in the best friend trope. He listens to Cap, a white guy who literally embodies white supremacy, without independent thinking. Even when he knows he's doing something stupid, he stays involved. For his white friend.
T'Challa had his own agenda, but without being the sexy, predatory black guy that's also quite an overdone trope. He had no love interest. He had only a deep love for his father and his values.
That's how I want disenfranchised races represented in my A-list Hollywood movies. In my everything.
